Instructions for this chapter:
So, I had another one of those moments where I wanted to interact with my characters and this is it.
After a small difference of opinion, Christian and I will take you on a tour of his luxury Superyacht, The Slayer. Just like Chapter 17B of Becoming Dr. Grey where Ana showed me around Grey Crossing, this chapter is “link-heavy.” So, if you are using a device that might be slowed down because of the links, you may want to move to a computer.
When you click a link, the picture should open in a separate window so that you don’t lose your place. However, if you just want to see the pictures instead, you can see them here at the Meet The Slayer.
Again, I hope someone will actually read the chapter and click the pictures and walk through the yacht with me, but I do understand that different devices may have a problem with all the links. It was a lot of work, but it was a lot of fun, too, and you’ll get to see how two alpha attitudes (me and CG) interact when we’re together (he’s a real pain in the ass).
CG: I heard that.
All of the same disclaimers apply. Have fun and enjoy…
Chapter 15A—Meet the Slayer
“Hi, again, my lovelies. Bronze Goddess here, but you can call me Bronzy. So, once again, I’ve found myself in—or in this case, on—another one of those magnificent Grey creations that require its own chapter. There will be no movie with this tour, but plenty of pictures on Pinterest so that you all can see exactly what I see as I take my tour of Christian’s beloved Slayer. I tried to just put a few descriptions of the boat in chapter fifteen, but Christian couldn’t stop going on about the damn thing in his point of view… and on and on and on. He chattered and babbled about everything from the C32 Ascert Caterpillar engine to the Simrad AP50 main Autopilot display with J50 junction box. Who wants to hear about that crap? Who even knows what that crap is? Will the boat sink? No? Good. Show me the cute stuff!”
“Will you please stop calling it a boat?” I roll my eyes at the sound of the arrogant, baritone hottie that I know is standing behind me on the dock.
“And what would you call it?” I say, turning around to find his hot ass standing there in a T-shirt and cargo shorts like he wore hiking in Anguilla. Fucking hell. Nobody makes cargo shorts look hot… except Christian Grey.
“It’s a superyacht,” he corrects me, standing there with his hands on his hips and his hair all windblown. I fold my arms, my floral maxidress blowing in the wind behind me. It’s sunny and today is a perfect day for a flower and an afro.
“I’ll give you ‘yacht,’ but I’m not calling it Superyacht,” I inform him.
“Well, that’s what it is,” he huffs. “Speaking of what we’ll be calling things, I’ll call you Lynn or BG. If I’m in a really good mood, I’ll even call you Ms. Holmes. However, I will not be calling you ‘Most High Writer of My Life’ or ‘Guardian of My Destiny.’ I also won’t disrespect you if you don’t disrespect me. So, I would appreciate it if you would refrain from making me do the Chicken Dance or the Macarena.”
I can’t help but giggle. The last time I was on Mercer Island, Jason decided to test my power as Wielder of the Almighty Quill, so I had to show him who was boss.
“Where is Jason anyway?” I ask.
“Staying as far away from you as possible,” he replies. “He figures if you can’t see him, he can’t piss you off. Chicken shit.”
“And you’re not afraid?” I ask, raising my eyebrow at him.
“No,” he says, flatly. “What’s the worst you can do to me?” I frown deeply.
“Christian, I write the story. I can do anything to you that I want.”
“And? So?” he challenges. “Are you going to kill me off? Are you going to kill Butterfly off? No, because you need us and you know it.”
“You’re a real asshole,” I tell him. “You know I just posted chapter seven and eight and nearly everybody hates you for how you treated Ana when Pops died.” He scoffs.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he says, waving me off. “Let she or he who is perfect amongst them cast the first stone.” I twist my lips.
“That’s not how the quote goes. It’s…”
“I know what it is and I said what I meant,” he interrupts me. “Three decades—three decades of fighting for my life in one way or another, beginning from before I could barely speak. I could scream, but I could barely form words. Yet, this woman comes into my life and yes, she has the ability to transform me and has done so in a lot of ways. But after two years of being with her, I’m supposed to be perfect after twenty-eight years of hell. There are people who have been through less than I have who are psychotic, schizophrenic, and bipolar and stay that way for the rest of their lives. But not Christian Grey. No—he has a hard time taming his emotions sometimes and he’s a dog and a monster who needs to be punished and Ana needs to withhold pussy and on and on. Hopefully, one day I’ll be that perfect person that they all think I should be!” I sigh heavily.
“Christian, nobody’s saying you have to be perfect,” I defend.
“The hell they aren’t!” he retorts. “I read all those comments, too, remember? How horrible I was for feeling how I was feeling and doing what I was doing. Did they forget that the first and last person that I had ever seen die that meant anything to me was the crack whore? I was four! I guess I was supposed to learn everything I needed to learn about death from that experience, right?”
Oh, God, how did we get on this topic? Oh, yeah, me and my big mouth.
“I’m sorry I brought it up,” I say, shaking my head.
“As am I,” he retorts. “But I can put it to bed without a problem. I’m just glad that my wife is a lot more tolerant of my mood swings and imperfections than others.” He turns around and walks down the dock. Turning about around to me, he says, “Do you want to see the boat?” I sigh. Now, he’s going to pout. He’s such a toddler.
“So, you’re going to be Vanna White?” I ask, falling in step behind him. He stops and turns a bemused frown to me.
“Who’s Vanna White?” I almost have to catch myself from doing the Ana-bobble-head thing.
“You don’t know who Vanna White is?” I ask incredulously.
“Should I?” he asks matter-of-factly. I keep forgetting that if I don’t write it, he may not know it… but he should know this.
“Vanna White!” I say, like it should be obvious. “Hostess of Wheel of Fortune with Pat Sajak? The last thirty-years? ‘I’d like to buy a vowel?’ This is part of pop culture! How do you not know this?” He just looks at me impassively.
“Did you write it?” he asks as matter-of-factly as his last question.
“I shouldn’t have to write this!” I snap back. “Anybody born in America as well as several countries abroad in the last five decades should at least have some idea who Vanna White is!” I’m so frustrated. How the fuck does he not know who Vanna White is? I didn’t write that he was a Dominant and he became a Dominant. He was a Dominant before I wrote it!
“Well, I don’t,” he says, folding his arms and waiting. I can’t believe this.
“You fucking know who Justin Bieber is and you don’t know who Vanna White is!” I huff.
“You wrote that I know who Justin Bieber is,” he defends. “He has one or two nice songs in his vast repertoire of childish screeching. I’ve never watched gameshows. Why would I know who Vanna White is?”
“But you know she was on a gameshow!” I point out.
“Because you just said it!” he counters. “You said she’s on Wheel of Fortune!” Okay, and now I’ve had enough of this conversation.
“Show me the damn boat,” I huff, walking ahead of him to the passarelle.
“Stop!” he says just as I get to the end of the passarelle. It’s a wonder I didn’t fall in!
“What?” I say, perturbed and startled.
“Take off your shoes,” he says. “Put them in that basket. There are slippers there that you can wear if you want.” I frown.
“Are you serious?” I ask bemused.
“It’s either that or go barefoot,” he says. “No street or ground dirt or debris gets tracked into my yacht.” I frown. Is he really that much of a Prima Donna?
“This is ridiculous!” I say, removing my shoes and tossing them into the basket. He walks up the passarelle behind me, removes his shoes and tosses them into the basket. He replaces them with a nearby pair of deck shoes.
“You’ve never been on a yacht before?” he asks. I twist my lips.
“No,” I say snidely. “Some of us don’t make yacht money.” He smirks at me. Asshole.
“Well, allow me to educate you. There’s not a luxury yacht in the world that I know of that you can board wearing your street shoes. They’re called deck shoes and boat shoes for a reason.” He pauses and looks down at my feet peeking out from my maxi-dress. “Skip the slippers. You’ve got nice toes.” Then, he just walks past me like he just said, “Nice day today.” I’m all verklempt and stuff and he just strolls down the deck. I shake it off and once again, fall in step behind him.
“So, a little information about what you’re seeing,” he begins. “The Slayer is a highly-modified, one-of-a-kind, customized version of the Richmond Status Quo. It’s a 150-foot-long, tri-deck Superyacht with six staterooms—two twin berths and five double berths, so it sleeps twelve, not including the additional crew quarters that sleeps eight. The master stateroom is on this deck. The VIP Queen stateroom or captain’s cabin is on the upper deck and the remaining four staterooms are down below.
“This is the Main Aft Deck,” he says, gesturing around the beautiful deck decorated with multicolored teak woods, white cushions and accents, and stainless-steel columns and railings polished to shine like chrome. To our left on the main deck is a Bar with five luxurious built-in bar stools on quality teak flooring. There are two comfortable looking chaises in the space—darker teak with plush white cushions. To our right is a set of glass double doors flanked on one side by polished teak, mahogany-colored cabinets and on the other side by the stairs that lead to the upper deck.
“After you,” he says, gesturing to the glass doors, which slide open automatically. Suddenly, he’s the perfect gentleman, and I’m going to soak it up before he becomes Mr. Asshole again. I flash him a genuine smile and step into the doors.
“This is the Main Salon,” he says, as he follows me into the elegantly decorated living space. “This furniture is custom-made, of course,” he adds. “Everything I saw for yachts or boats either looked too nautical or too ostentatious. I felt like this was just stylish enough to meet my needs—class and sophistication without being pretentious.” I nod.
“I think you got it right,” I say, examining the custom upholstered tweed love seat with leather trim and the matching upholstered tweed & leather occasional chairs. There’s also a mahogany cocktail table, a round table with a table lamps and a large upholstered oval ottoman. On the right side of the main salon is a deep chair of the same material, another round table with a plant and, of course, a grand piano.
“Has Ana seen this space yet?” I ask while running my fingers along the piano, even though I already know the answer.
“We’re sailing later today for the first time,” he answers calmly.
“It’s just… it has beautiful touches—throw pillows and plants…” I allow my feet to sink into the luxurious wall-to-wall carpeting. Yes, I now see why you shouldn’t wear street shoes in this creation. It would be blasphemy. “It almost has a woman’s touch.”
“I would hope so,” he says. “It was decorated by a woman.” I raise an eyebrow at him.
“How do you think Ana would feel about that?” I ask cautiously. He raises an eyebrow right back at me.
“I don’t know,” he says with a shrug, “but my interior decorator was a woman, so there’s not much I can do about that.” Interior decorator… of course. “What? Did you think it was my subs?”
“I… didn’t… I…” I’m tripping over my tongue because that’s exactly what I thought, or at least someone that was romantically interested in him that was decorating the space with hopes of occupying it herself one day. The corner of his mouth rises in a knowing grin.
“No other women besides staff, family, the decorator, and now you, have been on my yacht,” he confirms. Can a black woman blush with embarrassment?
“Well, what if she gets the same impression that I did?” I ask, a little chastised. There goes that knowing smile.
“I guess I just have to trust you to make sure that she doesn’t,” he says. “Since you’ve seen it first, there should be no surprises for Butterfly, right?” He leans on the other side of the piano awaiting my response.
“Mr. Grey!” I exclaim, somewhat appalled. “Are you flirting with me?”
“Nah,” he says casually, “just schmoozing. Is it working?” I roll my eyes and shake my head.
“What’s that? A bar?” I ask, changing the subject and pointing to the rich mahogany structure in the middle of the room.
“No,” he says, pushing from the piano, “that’s the Entertainment Center. It holds a 60” LCD TV with satellite receivers and a state-of-the-art sound system. I’m sure you’ve noticed the mahogany theme,” he points out. I nod. He points to the ceiling. “Look familiar?”
Above my head, there is a coffered round tray ceiling with framed molding and a custom light fixture.
“Yes,” I say examining the ceiling. “It almost looks like the ceiling in the entertainment room at Grey Crossing… right above Atlantis.”
“Almost identical,” he confirms. “There’s custom mahogany veneer joinery and cove molding throughout the yacht. You’ll also see this same wall-to-wall carpeting in the living spaces, slab marble flooring in the companionways, and the teak flooring you saw before on all the decks.” He points to the windows. “Panoramic windows on every level and…” He pushes a button on a remote that I thought was for the entertainment center with the obscenely massive television. Instead, the shades rise on one side of the boat to reveal the sunshine. “Electric pleated Roman shades,” he finishes.
“Very nice,” I say, walking to the panoramic windows. “Every level?”
“Except the lower level,” he admits. I’m a water baby, so I get lost in the view out the window for a moment, planning my next cruise with my husband in my head.
“Shall we continue, Ms. Holmes?” he says in that smooth baritone voice. I give him a knowing look.
“Now, you’re going to have to cut that out because you’re married, I’m married, and you’re very alive in my head!” He chuckles deeply and gestures to the side of the entertainment center.
“Shall we?” he says again, beckoning me away from my first love… the water.
I walk around the entertainment center to find a Dining Salon with a beautiful table that seats ten—mahogany, of course.
“You planned on entertaining here?” I ask. “A dinner party, perhaps?” He shrugs.
“Maybe not before, but who knows what might happen now,” he says. I continue to take in the space. The dining salon and the main salon are one big space only separated by the large entertainment center. Along the back wall behind the large dining table complete with burl chairs and ten elegant place settings is a Buffet with Built-In Display Cabinets that appear to house the finest crystal and stemware. Another coffered ceiling—square—graces this room, the soffit accented by a Murano glass chandelier with silver leaf appliqué designs. The chandelier matches the wall sconces that I am just noticing decorate the walls through the main and dining salons. He leads me through an automatic door on the left of the built-in buffet.
I won’t admit how jealous I am. The galley is actually a mini-gourmet kitchen and is bigger than the kitchen in my apartment! It has way more counter space, double sinks with black and white mosaic tile backsplash, and a television! There’s a four-door refrigerator and a four-dour freezer; two dishwashers; steamer, convection, and microwave ovens; a commercial five-burner cooktop stove and an oven range. The dinette is a custom U-shaped leather settee and mahogany dining table. The gourmet pantry and under-counter drawers offer more room for storage than my walk-in closet and all the drawer space in my bedroom combined—and that says a lot! The laminated multicolored floor matches the various shades of mahogany throughout the vessel.
“Good God, man,” I breathe. “Just these three rooms are way too much for one person.” He shrugs.
“Go big or go home,” he says, nonchalantly.
“What’s down there?” I ask, pointing to a stairway in the rear of the galley.
“That leads to the crew’s quarters,” he says. We descend the stairs and he shows me the Crew’s Lounge, which isn’t as opulent as the entertaining spaces, but is very classy nonetheless. There’s a larger U-shaped leather settee with a Corian dining table, a Sub-Zero refrigerator, Corian countertop with microwave and coffee maker, and storage locker and drawers. A hallway to the right of the lounge leads to four very comfortable and nicely furnished crew quarters, pimped out a bit with large screen televisions, Blu-ray players, stereo systems, and video games.
We spend little time in the crew’s quarters as Christian is eager to show me the rest of the boat… er, I mean, yacht. Back up the stairs, through the galley we go, back through the dining salon and to a hallway on the right of the buffet. We walk through to the Main Deck Companionway—another statement in pure opulence for just a fancy nautical hallway. To the right is a door to the outer starboard deck, another built-in mahogany buffet, and the main day head, while a gorgeous winding staircase leading to the upper deck and another staircase with a mahogany and frosted-glass banister leading to the lower deck occupy the area to the left. Directly in front of the staircases is a Sub-Zero Wine Cooler.
Beautiful art prints decorate the walls of the hallway and my feet are treated to the cool smoothness of a marble floor… and even the head is lavish—mahogany radius bow-front vanity with a granite top, a Kohler sink and gold-plated fixtures, a vanity mirror and an overhead mirror. I have a hard time figuring out why a bathroom is this glamorous when this particular bathroom will definitely only be used for biological relief. But then, I suppose you can’t have glamour throughout the yacht, then one corner of the boat look like a simple water closet.
Beyond the Main Day head are two large mahogany double doors that lead to the Master Stateroom sitting area. The first thing you notice upon entering is the leather sofa and the built-in entertainment system. Mr. Grey and his lovely wife can lounge in this area and watch on-demand programs on a 46″ HD LCD TV with tuner and amplifier and a satellite receiver while enjoying refreshments from a Sub-Zero two-drawer refrigerator on a comfortable leather settee.
Beyond the sitting area is the Master Stateroom. In the center of the room is a king-sized pedestal bed with drawers underneath and boasting an upholstered headboard with a mahogany frame. There’s a built-in vanity and vanity chair on the port side, a built-in 12-drawer dresser on the starboard, two marble-topped nightstands on either side of the bed, and an imposing entertainment center at the foot of the bed—all in mahogany. The panoramic windows and Roman shades are in this room as well. The forward bulkhead just beyond the headboard is covered with mirrored panels and the ceiling displays a beautiful mahogany alcove with recessed lighting.
The entertainment system hides a 60″ HD LCD TV, also with an on-demand movie receiver. Between the vanity and the entertainment center is large walk-in cedar-lined closet with plenty of storage and drawers as well as a Sentry safe.
“You’ve fallen silent, Ms. Holmes. Are you speechless?”
His voice actually shocks me as I was so living vicariously through him and Ana for a moment, imagining myself on this luxurious boat… yacht… and sailing away to some quiet little island where no one could find me.
“Yes, I must admit I’m a little dumbstruck,” I reply. “I’m ashamed to say that I wasn’t in this much awe when Ana gave me a tour of mansion.”
“That’s because you expected the mansion to look the way that it does,” he says. “You expect opulence when you see the outside of this massive piece of machinery, but you don’t expect this much.” I nod.
“It’s overwhelming,” I confess. “What made you decide on the mahogany throughout?”
“Overwhelming, huh?” he says. “You haven’t even seen the whole thing. Hold on to your panties.” He gestures me towards a door to the right of the bed. “Mahogany is classic, sophisticated… and comforting.” I frown.
“Comforting?” I would hardly say that all this rich wood was comforting. Classic and sophisticated, yes—but not comforting. Most of this wood is not the dark mahogany of Anastasia’s hair. It’s the reddish-brown mahogany that you would have expected to find on the maiden voyage of the Titanic… tragic ending, but a beautiful ship nonetheless.
… And probably not the best comparison.
“I find it comforting,” he says, “elegant, yet uniform… beautiful and orderly.”
I guess he would find something like that comforting. I still don’t get it. I walk into the doorway that he gestured to earlier and find a Master Bathroom decorated in marble, glass, and of course mahogany. The floor is marble, of course, and there’s a beautiful marble countertop with gold and glass accessories and fixtures. There’s also a mirrored ceiling is framed in the same familiar wood.
The same sconces from the salon area grace these walls as well as the walls in the master stateroom. The large marble shower and steamer with gold jets and fixtures as well as a marble bench is enviable. However, upon closer examination, what I thought was a mirror inside the shower is actually a large window—into the next bathroom! I rush out the bathroom, not taking note to where Christian is at all, and scurry to the other side of the bed, where I find another door… and Another Bathroom.
This bathroom is almost a mirror of the one on the other side of the window, only this one has a Jacuzzi tub. This is the hers. I walk out of the bathroom and find Christian sitting on the leather settee skimming through the on-demand selections. I fold my arms and gaze at him until I get his attention. He raises his eyebrows, then frowns.
“What?” he says, again. He can’t be that obtuse.
“His and hers bathrooms?” I ask, almost accusing. His brow furrows.
“That’s not his and hers,” he protests. “One has a shower and one has a tub.” I shake my head.
“That’s his and hers!” I exclaim. He shakes his head. “You know, for a smart man, you’re really dense. Who decorated your boat?” He shrugs.
“A friend of Elliot’s,” he says. “Some woman he was fucking at the time. Gia something.” I shake my head again.
“You spent what had to be at least a million dollars in mahogany and marble alone decorating this boat and you don’t remember the name of the woman who decorated it?” I lament.
“Why should I remember her name?” he asks. “She did the work, I paid her, she left. Had she fucked up, Andrea has her name and number.”
“Did she split the bathroom like that or was it that way when you bought the boat?” His lips form a straight line and he ponders the question.
“It wasn’t that way when I bought the yacht,” he says, correcting me. “She split it so that there would be space for both the Jacuzzi and the steam shower.”
“And, Mr. Brilliant Businessman, on what planet does a space that large need to be split in two to accommodate a Jacuzzi and a shower? Not only that, it’s awfully cozy that there’s a window in between. And if the space was so damn small, how did she have enough room to fit in another toilet and another vanity? You only have one ass!”
Suddenly, the wheels begin turning behind those gorgeous gray eyes.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he says, standing to his feet and putting his hands on his hips. “Women are always simpering around me, I had no idea… she was fucking my brother, for Christ’s sake!”
“You have more money and you were Seattle’s most eligible bachelor. No offense to Elliot, but in her eyes, you were an upgrade.” He runs his hand through his hair.
“Well, at least I didn’t fuck her,” he replies.
“Yeah, but good luck explaining his and her bathrooms to your wife.”
“It could have come with his and her bathrooms as far she knows.” I put my hands on my hips.
“There’s only so much shit I can cover up, Christian!” I snap. “A lady’s touch all over the boat—yes, I said boat—and his and hers bathrooms in the master stateroom… Did you forget you married a doctor?” He sighs a frustrated sigh.
“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it,” he says. “It’s not like I can remodel the damn thing before she wakes up. Besides, I love my boat and she will, too. Now, let’s continue the tour.”
I think I’ve angered him a bit, but he might as well face it now before he has to explain to Ana why his boat looks like he had a wife before he had a wife.
We proceed back through the main deck companionway and down a winding staircase—marble stairs framed in mahogany with beautiful etched and frosted glass inside the banister—leading to the Lower Deck Companionway.
“There are four staterooms down here,” he says, “three queens and one twin. They all pretty much look the same, so take your pick.” He does the Vanna White thing with his hands and I step into one of the Queen Staterooms. It’s modest, but very nice—queen sized bed, television, two nightstands with table lamps, alcove ceiling, and private En Suite. The mahogany still makes the space opulent, though it looks nothing like the master stateroom. The Twin Stateroom is the simplest of all—two twin beds, a nightstand, a cabinet, a closet, a television, and a private en suite. There’s one queen stateroom on either side of the stairs in this portion of the lower deck. Straight across from the stairs, the third queen stateroom and the twin stateroom flank a bookshelf that really doesn’t look like a bookshelf.
“What’s that?” I ask, pointing to the bookshelf. “A secret room?” He raises an eyebrow at me.
“You’re pretty smart, Ms. Holmes,” he says. “No, it’s not a secret room, but it is a hidden door. It leads to the crew’s quarters—easy access for changing linens and such.” I nod. Makes sense.
We ascend the marble stairs two levels to get to the Upper Deck Companionway. Directly to our left is another queen stateroom.
“This is the Captain’s Cabin,” he says. “It could also be another guest room, but if I chose to take a long sail for a few days, this is where I would sleep instead of the master stateroom—unless I hire a captain to sail instead.”
“Do you ever do that—hire a captain to sail instead of you?” He does the half-head shake, half nod.
“I have a first mate, so to speak, but each time I’ve taken her out, I’ve primarily been the captain.” I nod as I take in the décor of the captain’s cabin. I kind of like the way the queen-sized bed sits against the window so that you can awake to the view of the water. Besides that, it’s pretty standard like the other rooms—same mahogany trim and furnishings, but with a small half-bath.
“This looks more like you,” I tell him. “Solitary, but right at the helm of things.” He shrugs.
“I’ve actually spent more time here than any of the other staterooms. Even on trips that may be a couple of days… around the Sound or just relaxing on my boat with my family or something, I’ve been up here instead of that big room downstairs.” He rubs his chin and I notice that he’s calling it his boat, too. “Maybe you’re right about Gia,” he says. “I hadn’t thought about it before now, but I guess she could have been wishful thinking when she decorated the master stateroom—not knowing that I would spend most of my time up here.”
“Here’s my suggestion,” I say, linking my arm in his and leading him back to the staircase. “When Ana asks about it, be truthful. Tell her that you didn’t know at the time, but hindsight being 20/20 and all…” I trail off with a shrug. He nods.
“You’re right,” he says. “I mean, I didn’t plan it that way, and I sure didn’t end up with that predatory wench. She was fawning all over me and I seriously thought it was just the face, but now…” He rubs the back of his neck. He’s been hanging around Elliot a bit too long… or Carrick. “I sure hope she likes it.”
“She’ll love it,” I say, patting his arm and avoiding his back. “It’s beautiful. Say something profound like the fates must have known that you two would be together, something like that.” I pat his shoulder and quickly move to the other side of the stairs before turning to face him. “Where to, now?” I ask.
“To your right,” he responds, some of the heaviness leaving his shoulders. I pass another day head on the main deck and turn to my right. “Forward.” I nod and walk into the Pilothouse Office. This is a mahogany entryway—mahogany cabinets, walls, and small desk with a few controls—that leads into the Pilothouse. Now, this is an impressive space—two large Llebroc leather Captain’s Chairs, large leather and mahogany Raised Settee with a mahogany pedestal base and two teak steps, custom carpeting and a mahogany helm with more monitors, keyboards, joysticks, gadgets, and gizmos than I can describe. It almost looks like a really pimped-out video game setup.
“This screams power,” I say, caressing the luxurious leather of one of the captain’s chairs.
“It should,” he says, taking a seat in the other one and rubbing his hands on the mahogany helm. “This is my throne. I can and have spent hours at a time up here.” He gestures to the other seat for me to sit down, which I do. “Look out there,” he says, pointing forward. I turn my gaze to the beautiful view before us of Lake Washington.
“Now,” he says, “Imagine moving at 18 knots slashing through the water on a sunny day.” I frown.
“I’m sorry… you lost me at ‘knots.’” He smiles.
“It’s about 20 miles or 32 kilometers per hour. It doesn’t seem very fast in a car, but in a boat, it’s kinda sweet.” I smile back.
“You called it a boat again.” He shakes his head and rolls his eyes.
“Your bad habits are rubbing off on me.” He turns his gaze back to the windows. “I miss my boat,” he says. “I haven’t had much time with her since Butterfly came along.”
“She doesn’t like to sail?” I ask. I don’t remember writing that.
“It wasn’t her fault,” he replies. “I just never found the time. I didn’t even think about it until she brought it up yesterday. I have someone that comes out to the property and maintains her regularly, so the yacht didn’t suffer, but I can imagine she’s been a bit lonely.” He caresses the mahogany again and I smile inwardly, noting that he’s talking about the Slayer like it’s a woman.
“Slayer,” I say, “did you come up with the name before you experienced it ‘moving at 18 knots slashing through the water on a sunny day?’” He chuckles.
“Silver-gray fiberglass slaying across the ocean… What else would I name it?”
“You’ve done ocean time with this monster?” He nods.
“I’ve gone up the coast to Canada a time or two,” he confesses. “She’s really made for the ocean, not a lake, but she’ll still maneuver fine in small waters. Land transport getting it onto the island was a real bitch, so that won’t happen again anytime soon.” He points to the controls on the helm. “You won’t understand anything about this and I saw you talking about me trying to describe my boat, so I’ll just say this… great engines, starboard and port—3850 total horsepower. That’s a lot of horses. Several compasses; awesome autopilot; two 96-mile scanners—one four-foot, one eight-foot; top-of-the-line communications system; and I can’t go any further without giving you a boating lesson.”
“That’s quite enough,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. “In other words, it’s a really, really big boat.” I stand from the captain’s chair. The power is a bit too much for me. “It’s impressive that you can… drive this big rig,” I add.
“It’s just like operating any other yacht,” he says, downplaying the situation. “Everything’s just… bigger.” I twist my lips.
“Yeah, sure,” I reply. “The difference between ‘every other yacht’ and this creation is the difference between an SUV and an 18-wheeler.” He laughs aloud.
“Maybe not that different, but different,” he cedes. He points to a door on the starboard side. “We’ll go this way.”
“What about those rooms?” I ask, pointing in the direction we just came from.
“Patience, Ms. Holmes,” he scolds. “We have to see the foredeck first.” He points to the door again and I obediently open it and walk through to the Portuguese Foredeck.
“Wow. Do people actually sit up here while the boat is moving?” I ask. “I can imagine it gets pretty windy.”
“Sometimes,” he says, “not if we’re going at top speed, but it’s an amazing experience.” I examine the teak wood floors, tan and yellow bench and pillows, upholstered in outdoor materials, two Corian tables on polished stainless steel pedestals, and polished stainless steel railing around the Deck.
“Definitely a far cry from the other décor of the boat,” I point out.
“That’s because this is one of the areas that’s totally exposed to the elements,” Christian says. “Go down there.”
I look to where he’s pointing and see the teak flooring narrow into a Walkway and Stairs that lead to the very front of the yacht… and there’s a bell. I walk down the stairs almost to the bow of the boat. Looking out over the lake, I almost feel like Rose when Jack was holding her hands and letting her fly at the nose of the luxury ocean liner.
And there’s that damn Titanic reference again.
I turn around to walk back to the stairs, but first, I ring the bell.
Back inside the yacht, we pass the stairs we ascended to get to this level and directly to my right—on the port side—is the Master Owner’s Office just beyond a pair of double-glass French doors. The room is thrifty in size, not in décor, like the rest of the vessel. This space boasts beautiful Sapele Pomelle wainscoting inlays and built-in cabinetry and storage. A custom-made Sapele bowed-front desk and office chair sit holding a computer and telephone and facing a large window with the same electric Roman shades, affording the owner a beautiful view of the ocean while he works. The office also has a 40” HD TV and a classic floor-model globe.
“You can’t get much work done in here,” I say, admiring the beautiful view from the large window.
“I hardly ever work in here,” he says. “This is one of the few times that I refuse to work—when I’m on my yacht—unless there’s an extreme emergency.”
“That’s a good practice,” I tell him. “It’s really beautiful and it’s built for rest and relaxation. Working here is almost a sacrilege!” He laughs again and gestures me towards the French doors.
“Still more boat to see, Ms. Holmes,” he says playfully.
“Yes, Mr. Grey,” I reply, proceeding through the French doors back into the upper deck companionway.
“To your right,” he says, gesturing me into yet another large, lavishly decorated space, “is the Skylounge. I can see immediately that the lounges are also his and hers. The Main Salon is hers, but…
“Now, this is a man’s room,” I say. I don’t point out the his and hers theme anymore, since I think he already gets it, but this spot is definitely for the guys.
“Yes, it is,” he says proudly. He describes the upholstered tweed & leather trim love seat, sofa, and occasional chair. “Those are robust pieces to indicate a gentleman’s space,” he brags. Of course, there’s a large leather occasional chair with a matching ottoman that puts you in the mind of a Laz-Y-Boy recliner, and the round mahogany glass top cocktail and end tables are large, solid pieces. Nothing dainty or ladylike in this space. I could see Mr. Grey relaxing with a quality Cuban cigar with a few businessmen discussing his conquest, if he were a smoker, that is.
And again, another abstract Titanic reference.
“You’ve seen them all over the yacht, but yes, that’s another built-in entertainment center. That’s the largest television on board. It’s a Sharp 90″ 3D television with all the options—on-demand movies, receiver-amplifier and satellite receiver.
“Over here is where I whip Elliot’s ass in Poker, and occasionally my father.” He gestures to a large 48″ Mahogany Game and Card Table with leather inlay. It has four leather game chairs with brass nail heads, each built almost like a king’s throne! “And this is the wet bar—standard stuff.”
“Standard, my ass,” I say. “There aren’t many standard Marble-Top Bars with state-of-the-art appliances, Mr. Grey. Maybe that’s standard for you…”
“That’s what I meant,” he says, raising his eyebrow at me. I shake my head.
“Many of my readers aren’t accustomed to your idea of standard, Mr. Billionaire, believe me,” I say. The well-stocked bar area has a Perlick 2-drawer refrigerator and ice-maker, a Fisher & Paykel dishwasher, a U-line wine cooler, and side-by-side sinks. Three woven rattan and leather bar stools invite the guests to relax with a delicious cocktail or a manly Scotch, neat. The Skylounge has all the prevailing mahogany accents, tray ceiling, wall-to-wall, carpeting, and Roman shades over panoramic windows seen throughout the yacht.
I proceed to the double sliding glass electric doors to the Upper Aft Deck, since I know that’s where we’re headed next. Like the deck below, this deck also has multicolored teak woods, white accents, and polished stainless steel. The Large Dining Table in the center of the deck is mahogany-colored polished teak with twelve matching teak chairs with white cushions. There’s storage in the base of the table as well as separate storage lockers with a polished teak countertop and teak storage cabinets. This deck also has the teak chaises and tables like the main deck as well as a 46” HD LCD television. There’s a refrigerator and sink for snacks and the same highly-polished stainless-steel columns and guardrails as throughout the yacht.
“Up the stairs, now, Ms. Holmes,” Christian says, gesturing me to the stairs.
“I thought you said you would call me Lynn or BG,” I whine. He flashes that all-American perfect 32-tooth smile at me and I try not to melt.
“Old habits die hard,” he says, in that voice. “My mood has improved.”
“Mr. Grey, we’ve discussed this,” I warn.
“I know,” he acknowledges, “but it’s fun watching you squirm a bit.”
“Did you forget that I’m in control of the quill and I can make you squirm a lot? I chastise gently.
“But you won’t,” he says confidently, gesturing to the steps again. I shake my head.
“Oh, no. You first,” I say. He shrugs.
“If you insist.” He proceeds up the stairs in front of me and one look at that ass and I immediately knew that I made the wrong decision. I look down and focus on my feet, holding my maxi-dress so that my feet don’t get tangled in the material.
Distraction! Thank God!
“Are you okay?” Christian asks from the top of the stairs. I look up and see concern lacing his eyes as I slowly maneuver the steps.
“Yes,” I say, squelching his concern. “These stairs seem narrower than the other stairs we took.” It wasn’t a lie—they are narrower.
“Yeah, I’m not really sure why, but they are a bit narrower than the others. Sorry I didn’t warn you. I didn’t think of it until now.” I wave him off.
“It’s fine. No harm done.” I look around the deck. “This is definitely for the sun worshippers,” I say. He nods.
“Yes,” he confirms, “this is the Flybridge Aft Deck, mainly used for sunbathing.” There are four simple chaises up here—teak with green outdoor cushions and chevron pillows on a fiberglass floor. Where the fiberglass ends and the teak flooring begins, there’s a Viking commercial stainless-steel gas barbeque grill right next to the Flybridge bar, which is almost a replica of the Aft Bar on the main deck, only this one has a 46” HD television behind the bar.
Just past the day head and the bar is the Flybridge Deck, which sports two more built-in upholstered settees—one on either side of the yacht—and surfboard-shaped teak tables with stainless steel bases. Further forward is a Dimension 1 Spa and Jacuzzi Tub on a three-step platform. There are lounging sun pads on either side of the tub with cushions. Overhead speakers pipe your choice of music across the deck.
“Well, that’s about it, Ms. Holmes,” Christian says. “The only things you haven’t seen are the Massage Room the engine room, and the helipad. Trust me, the massage room is boring—a massage table and cabinets. That’s all.”
“The boat has a helipad? You’re kidding!” I exclaim. He shakes his head.
“Not kidding,” he says. “It’s not a helipad right now, but with a few modifications, part of this boat can be quickly converted to a helipad.”
Well, now I’ve seen and heard it all.
“And there you have it, my friends—a tour of the beloved Slayer before they take her out on her maiden voyage in Lake Washington. And don’t worry, despite all of the Titanic references, she’ll come back in one piece.”
“What?” Christian interrupts me. “You were going to sink my boat?” I twist my lips.
“No, but you have to admit. It’s about as ostentatious as the Titanic, so I couldn’t help the obvious comparison’s including Leonardo Decaprio’s ‘King of the World’ moment at the bow.”
“You’re probably the only person who got on the yacht and didn’t do that,” he says.
“Oh, I did,” I say. “I just had a Rose moment instead of a Jack moment, and you’re interrupting my conclusion with my readers.” He twists his lips.
“Well, excuuuse me,” he says, pouting and drawing out the word. I roll my eyes.
“Anyway, folks, that’s our trip through this beautiful vessel. Join us for the next chapter when Christian takes his beloved wife on her first sail on the Slayer. In the meantime, I want a drink and a soak in that Jacuzzi before I leave. Christian, can you make me a Comso?”
“No,” he protests. “I don’t know how to make a Cosmo, although I should since they apparently drive Butterfly wild.” I smile.
“Don’t worry, I’ll teach you…” I say, as I lead him to the bar.
A/N: Although I didn’t do a movie of the boat, there is a virtual tour here if you are interested in seeing it and have no problem with first-person moving graphics.
The album is here: https://www.pinterest.com/ladeeceo/meet-the-slayer/
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